Out Of Alignment
by volley
Summary: Friend In Need. Reed has to fix more than just the targeting sensors. Coda to Cogenitor.


A _Friend In Need_ story. Hope you'll enjoy it and leave a review!

RoaringMice was my beta reader for this one. Thank you!

* * *

_What was the name of those aliens? Vis… Vis-something_, Malcolm Reed mused, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He quickly restrained it, acknowledging the nod of a crewman who passed him in the other direction along the corridor on B deck.

His smile returned, a little wider. _Vis-something-beautiful_, he amended, pleased. Absent-mindedly, he rubbed the lump on his head which reminded him of the overtures that his counterpart from that alien ship had made to him; the outspoken lady had startled him into straightening up inside a cannon housing and caused him to bang said part of his anatomy on some low pipes. _Well, Mr Tucker, you're not the only one who can wiggle his way into alien hearts around here…_

Malcolm turned the next corner and ran smack into Captain Archer.

"What the…"

"Captain…"

"Watch were you're going, Lieutenant!"

Reed sobered up instantly, snapping to attention. "I'm awfully sorry, Sir. I was -- thinking."

Archer shot him a withering look, and it was only thanks to his discipline that Malcolm kept the surprise he felt off his face: Jonathan Archer was just not the sort of captain who would normally bite your head off for inadvertently banging into him. Something was clearly on his CO's mind. Perhaps there was indeed some truth behind the rumour that something had happened to spoil what had seemed a perfect first contact.

Reed quickly stepped aside to let Archer pass, nodding as the Captain took off again, and finally relaxed his posture, lingering one more moment to watch the other man walk away. He was about to go on his own way too when, out of the corner of his eye, he caught Archer stopping in his tracks.

The Captain turned and cast him a studious glance. "Mr. Reed," he said.

"Sir." Malcolm resumed his military stance and turned about.

Archer paused. Then he took a couple of steps back towards the Lieutenant and pursed his lips. "Tactical systems have had a few bugs lately. Targeting sensors going out of alignment, and the like."

It wasn't a question. Malcolm's gaze shifted from the bulkhead behind Archer's head to the man's eyes, but he could read nothing beside perhaps frustration in them. _No more bugs than usual_, he mulled. Plus he really had no clue as to what _the like_ might be: tactical systems had been running as smoothly as could be expected. But far be it from him to contradict a pissed-off superior officer - not a strategically wise course of action.

"Yes, Sir," he answered after the briefest hesitation.

Archer's eyebrows furrowed. "Well, I want you to fix the problem. Find Commander Tucker and get his help."

Malcolm felt a twinge of resentment. Why on earth should he bother Trip and have him waste time on those little buggers! He was more than capable of fine-tuning the bloody targeting sensors himself. Plus it was _his _damn department. It was well and good for Archer to think the world of Tucker, everyone knew they were close friends – and indeed Trip deserved the respect – but still…

"If I may, Captain," Reed replied in a tactful voice, "I am quite certain I need not disturb the Commander to…"

"Do as I say, Lieutenant," Archer cut him off. "That's an order."

With that he walked off, even before Malcolm had had time to reply 'Aye, Sir.'

* * *

Trip had sought refuge inside a maintenance tube. He had burrowed away from everybody. He felt as if he had 'murderer' written in bold letters on his forehead, and the eyes of his crewmates had been like cutting blades slashing through him. It didn't matter that only the Captain and T'Pol knew of his… _crime_; he still couldn't stand anyone's gaze and anyone's company. Too bad no maintenance tube could ever hide him from his own conscience...

As he robotically reconnected wires, he wished he could piece his shattered self together as he was doing with this circuitry. But it wasn't possible. And it wouldn't be right. He deserved to go through this hell, even though no amount of suffering would ever bring Charles back to life.

He put down his tools and wiped a sleeve across his sweaty brow. Then he dropped heavily to a sitting position and, drawing up his knees, he hugged them and leaned his forehead down. He wished he could cry and ease the oppression that had his heart in a vice. Let tears wash away at least some of his misery and shame. But tears would not come. This feeling of… anguish was new to him. Up until now he had gone through life with a smile on his lips and a spring in his step. Sure, he had had his share of difficulties growing up, like anybody, but he had taken them in stride, and overcome them on the strength of his youthful impetuousness.

_Impetuousness_.

Impulsive, that's what he was. Jon was right. Reckless, hot-headed, rash, damn thoughtless…

Trip closed his eyes tightly at the memory of Archer's dressing-down. He had never felt so shocked and hurt in his life: by the news, by Archer's disappointment and resentment, and perhaps even more by his reluctance to believe that Trip might ever be able to change. Would he ever read friendship and trust in those green eyes again? Would he ever again be able to hold his Captain's gaze?

A noise startled him out of his thoughts, and he quickly went back to kneeling down in front of the open panel and picked up his tools, cringing at the idea of having someone trespassing on his sorrow.

"Commander, are you there?"

The voice which floated up to him was heavily accented, and Trip flinched. Here was another person he would not dare look in the eye. Another friend who was going to recoil in horror when he learned of what he had done.

"Yeah," he called back, trying to sound his normal self. Who was he trying to fool? Certainly not Malcolm.

He could hear Reed curse softly under his breath as the man made his way through the narrow and uncomfortable access tube. Trip turned his back to the sound and busied himself with his job, only sparing Malcolm a quick glance when the Armoury Officer dropped to sit near him with a sigh.

"Having fun?" Malcolm asked sarcastically after a moment. "Good grief, it's hot in here. I'd have thought you kept these menial jobs as punishment for the more undisciplined members of your department," he added with a soft laugh.

_Dead right. You hit the mark, Lieutenant._

"Someone's got to do them…"

"Well, someone _else_ will have to do them," Malcolm said. "I've come to save you, at least from this heat. For some unfathomable reason the Captain wants you to help me get the targeting scanners perfectly aligned. Don't ask me why…"

Trip bit his lip, his face still turned away from Malcolm. This might be a menial job, but Jon was putting him on something even more humiliating; assigning him to assist Reed on something the Lieutenant was perfectly capable of doing on his own. Talk of losing the man's trust… His heart clenched and his vision suddenly blurred. He was barely aware of Malcolm's voice still speaking.

"No offence, I know you're friends with the man, but at times he... Trip! What the hell…"

The prickling on Trip's fingers lasted just a fraction of a second, and before he knew it his hand had been jerked away from the wiring and his wrist was in a firm grip, as sparks flew from the open panel.

"Those relays are polarised," Malcolm exclaimed. "Don't you realise it?"

He sounded baffled, and Trip could not blame him. Not your typical mistake for the Chief Engineer of Earth's first warp-5 vessel. Had it not been for Malcolm's fast reflexes, his distraction could have cost him a bad burn.

"Yeah," he said with a chuckle that sounded more like a sob. "Damn stupid of me. Thanks." He blinked back his unshed tears and tried to pull his wrist free, but Malcolm tightened his grip on it, forcing Trip to face him. He saw the Lieutenant's features go from surprise to concern.

"What's wrong?" Malcolm asked softly, finally letting go of him.

Trip turned away again and pretended to study the circuitry, feeling his friend's eyes on him. He wished he could just wake up and find this was a nightmare. He'd have to tell Malcolm, sooner or later. Tell him what an irresponsible ass the man he called his best friend was, what he had done. So it might as well be now, in the privacy of this overheated hole. But he just didn't know where to start, or that he had the heart.

Finally giving up all pretence of work, he dropped his head to his chest. A moment later he was sitting shoulder to shoulder with Reed.

Malcolm turned his head to study him, but didn't break the silence; he just put a hand on his arm, and Trip was grateful for the time his friend was allowing him, for not pressing an answer.

Trip drew in a slow, steadying breath. "I caused someone's death," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, although in that confined space it sounded louder than he would have wanted. "An innocent person has died because of me and my damned impulsiveness."

There, he had said it. Bluntly. Though it was only the beginning. And the tears finally overflowed. He let them fall, heart-broken and unashamed. It was not the crying he should feel ashamed of.

He wept silently, watching through his watery eyes colours blend and his surroundings form kaleidoscopic images, with Malcolm's hand now clutched tightly on his arm. After a brief hesitation he anchored himself onto it, trying to find the strength necessary to go on. Go on speaking. Go on with his life.

It was Malcolm who finally spoke. "One of the aliens?" he enquired. His voice was low and uncertain; as if he was loathe showing himself curious, afraid to intrude on his sorrow.

"The cogenitor," Trip admitted in a choked voice, releasing Malcolm's hand to wipe his tears away. He heaved another deep breath and regained control over his emotions. "She - _it_ committed suicide."

"I'm so sorry. I didn't know," Malcolm simply murmured after a moment. His hand was still firmly holding onto Trip.

Trip nodded. His mouth was dry. He dared a sideways glance at Malcolm: his friend looked absorbed in thought.

They were silent for a long time.

"Why did it do that?" Malcolm suddenly enquired. "If… if you don't mind my asking," he stammered. He still spoke in that low, baritone voice which Trip knew in his friend was the sign of deep-set emotion; be it seething anger or, as he hoped in this case, empathy.

Did he mind telling Malcolm? He did, yes. More, he was afraid to do it. Malcolm was a man of principle, and Trip didn't want the Lieutenant to think less of him; he didn't want to risk losing, after Archer's, also Reed's respect and friendship. But neither did he want their friendship to be founded on lies, and it wasn't by running away from the truth that he could hope to pick up his life again. One thing he had always admired in Malcolm was his courage. Now was the time to find some courage of his own.

"Because I couldn't mind my own business, couldn't keep my nose out of matters that didn't concern me, and I judged those aliens' customs by my own, faulty meter," Trip said with bitterness. "I thought the Vissians were mistreating the cogenitor, preventing it from living a full life. I furtively took scans of its brain and when I found that it had the same mental capacities as anyone else… I taught it to read, and urged it to become what it could not."

Trip paused. Malcolm was as still as a statue at his side. Frozen in horror?

"I brought… _Charles_ on Enterprise. Showed it the world I thought it deserved to enjoy. And when it refused to go back to its own ship and asked to remain with us…" Trip swallowed hard and squeezed his eyes shut against the harrowing memory. "The Capt'n decided its place was with its own people. A few hours later Jon got a call…" Trip couldn't finish.

Malcolm finally removed his hand, and Trip felt the loss of that small comfort. Then Reed shifted. Trip's heart missed a beat. Was he drawing away in revulsion? But Malcolm's legs brushed against his, seemingly not afraid of the contact, and when Trip dared raise his gaze, he saw that his friend had only moved to sit on the other side of the narrow access tube, probably because he wanted to be face to face with him. Searching his eyes Trip was relieved to find no sign of revulsion in them.

"Trip, you may have done all that," Malcolm said slowly, holding his gaze. "But you didn't mean any harm."

No revulsion perhaps, but pain was clear on Malcolm's face as he spoke the well-meaning words. Well, of course, the man might not feel _revulsion_, but the least he could feel was pain at the idea that his best friend could have acted so irresponsibly as to cause another person's death.

A choked sob escaped Trip's throat. "I _killed_ it!" he blurted out.

"You did no such thing," Malcolm replied quietly but firmly. "It was still… Charles's decision to take its own life. You are not responsible for another person's decisions."

"It doesn't matter, it's as if I killed it," Trip growled. He felt a surge of irritation at the idea that Malcolm would want to make him feel better. He didn't deserve to feel better. "If I hadn't stuck my nose where it didn't belong, it would still be alive!"

Silence met that. Thick and heavy.

In the end Malcolm breathed out audibly. "That is true," he murmured. There was no accusation in his voice, only understanding, yet Trip felt once more the stabbing pain of guilt. He looked up at his friend; Malcolm's focus seemed to be inward.

"Though it's hard to live with one's own mistakes, one must," the lieutenant said grimly, lowering his head.

"I don't think I can live with this mistake, Malcolm," Trip replied numbly. "This is not like connecting the wrong wires or touching a polarised relay…"

"No, it's a lot more like making a tactical decision, and finding out perhaps it was the wrong one, and tossing and turning in bed at night without peace, because that decision may have cut some lives short," Malcolm said in a breath. He looked up, and Trip saw the pained expression return to his face. "I know what you're going through, Trip," he added quietly, leaning his head back. "It's ugly."

Trip felt slightly disoriented. Malcolm hadn't caused anyone's death on Enterprise but… perhaps before... If anyone's decisions could mean the life or death of people, well an Armoury Officer's were it.

He studied his friend, but didn't ask him anything. He respected his need for privacy as the other man before had respected his need for silence. Let Malcolm decide if and when he would tell him more.

"How am I ever going to forget?" Trip wondered aloud after a long pause.

"You can't – in fact, you _mustn't_."

"Then how do I go on?" Trip murmured with an anguished look.

Malcolm gave a bitter smile. "I'm no expert," he said. "Or perhaps I am," he amended, with a mirthless huff. "You know me and my tendency to brood… But there is one thing I firmly believe in: we all must try to learn from our mistakes, and become better persons _because_ of them," he said thoughtfully. He pinned Trip with his gaze. "Nothing will make the ache go completely away - or the remorse. They will resurface. But we must, we have a duty to turn our mistakes into stepping stones to becoming better human beings, and not allow ourselves to be crushed by them. "

"I firmly believe in this," he repeated.

There was indeed a quiet conviction in Malcolm's voice, a strength that shook Trip to the core. Malcolm was right, though Trip knew the lesson would be a hard one to learn. His friend's words glided over his soul like the gust of a cool, evening breeze on a hot summer day. Just as a gust of wind, though, the comfort was gone in an instant.

"Do you really think I can become a better person through this?" he asked grimly after a moment.

Malcolm tilted his head and his eyes softened. "You already have, Trip," he said. "Your grief is proof of that. Grief has a way of forging one into a better person." He pursed his lips. "As long as you let it cleanse you, as long as you don't fight it."

Trip felt a painful lump in his throat. "The Capt'n doesn't seem to agree with you," he murmured. "He doesn't think I'll ever change, and I can't really blame him. He said that I…" His voice failed, and he shook his head. "He lost his trust in me," he eventually managed.

"Trip, that's preposterous. Surely you don't believe it," Malcolm said in his clipped accent, catching his friend's gaze and holding it. "Whatever gave you that idea?"

"It's pretty clear, don't you think? He just asked you to baby-sit me. He assigned me to help you re-align the targetin' sensors..." Trip said dejectedly.

To his astonishment Malcolm's face lit up, and his friend broke into a soft laugh. But his own face must have been a mask of misery, for Reed quickly reined in his amusement.

"Sorry," he said, a little self-consciously. "But the funny thing is, I too was pissed-off when Captain Archer ordered me to get your help." He heaved a deep breath. "Nothing personal, but I just couldn't see why I should disturb Enterprise's Chief Engineer to fix the blasted targeting sensors - as if I couldn't do it myself! So, there you are…"

A moment later, however, Reed's eyes narrowed and a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "I'll be damned," he said thoughtfully. "I believe I have just figured out why the Captain did that…"

Trip looked at him blankly, waiting for an explanation. His overwhelming emotions had fogged up his mind.

Malcolm raised his eyebrows in an innocent expression. "Whatever he told you, I'm quite sure that after you left he felt badly about it. I believe he thought you could use a friend at your side. And since he obviously couldn't be the one this time, I was second best."

"Ah, no…" Trip murmured, not wanting to give credit to a hope that might be short-lived.

"Oh, yes," Malcolm said convincingly. "Trust me."

They sat for a few more minutes. Then Reed jostled Trip's knee with his own.

"So, are you finished here? I know re-aligning sensors is not much fun, but the man did _order_ us to get the bloody job done…"

Trip sighed, then reluctantly picked himself up and started closing the panel, working in silence. It _was_ good to have a friend at his side. Perhaps Jon _had_ sent Reed to him so that he could have a shoulder on which to weep… And perhaps Malcolm was right: it wasn't a matter of forgetting, it was a matter of remembering, and letting this tragedy change him into a better person. He owed at least this to Charles.

"Malcolm," he said earnestly, turning to face him. "I don't think I could have dealt with this without you."

A mix of emotions played across his friend's face. "This is nothing compared to all the times you helped me," Malcolm replied quietly, with a small smile. Wiping a sleeve across his sweaty forehead, he added, "But let's go now, before all they can find of us are two puddles of sweat…" He stood, as straight as the maintenance tube allowed him, and began to make his way back.

After a few steps he turned briefly, as if to check that he would follow him, and Trip saw him shoot one of his rare, mischievous smiles.

"I still have to tell you how tasting cheese with a certain lady led to a certain lump on my head..."

* * *

It didn't take them very long to get the little buggers back in line. Well – targeting sensors versus the combined forces of Enterprise's Armoury Officer and Chief Engineer? Not much of a contest…

Trip had barely left the Armoury, totally drained but in a definitely more serene frame of mind, when Reed saw Archer peek inside the door.

He left his console and walked quickly to the Captain. "Sir," he greeted him politely.

"Lieutenant." Archer cast a surreptitious glance around. "Just checking to see if you had carried out your orders," he said. It was rather obvious he was there for another reason.

Reed kept a perfectly straight face but smiled inwardly. Archer was poles apart from your typical Commanding Officer, at least the Royal Navy type which he had been taught to think so highly of. After a disorienting first few weeks Malcolm had begun to appreciate the man, and his style of command had slowly grown on him.

"Aye, Sir. Targeting sensors are aligned and ready." He licked his lips. "Thanks to Commander Tucker's expert assistance, I might add." Malcolm eyed his CO. Archer seemed to be weighing him.

"So things are… running more smoothly now?" the Captain asked.

Reed opened his mouth to reply; then stalled. The way Archer had asked the question… just how many layers of meaning did it have? He fathomed the depth of the green eyes before him.

"I believe so, Sir," he replied, with his gaze as much as with his words. Then he added, "As you know, Captain, things can't always run smoothly. Sometimes a… _piece of_ _equipment_ may give a problem or two. But if one understands its complexity…"

He saw Archer's eyes narrow.

"Some pieces of… _equipment _are particularly temperamental," Archer replied meaningfully. "They go out of alignment a bit too often."

"Yes, Captain," Reed said, raising his eyebrows. "However..."

Should he dare say more? He crossed his arms over his chest and tilted his head to one side.

"...You will agree that there are pieces of… _equipment_ that are of vital importance to the well-being of the ship. Of this _crew_. We just wouldn't fare as well without them. They may go out of alignment once in a while, but they don't do it on purpose, and it's not to say that if one keeps working at them, with perseverance and patience..."

Malcolm finally broke off, surprised and a bit wary of his own outspokenness. The message hadn't been all that subtle.

Archer looked at him for a long moment, a thoughtful expression on his face; then nodded. He made as if to leave, but stopped and turned his head again, and Reed tensed.

"I'm sure you did a good job with… a particular _piece of equipment_, Lieutenant," he murmured as his eyebrows shot eloquently up. "Thank you."

"Not a problem, Sir. My pleasure," Reed replied with a genuine smile and a silent sigh of relief. He watched his Captain walk away. Perhaps it was his imagination, but the man's step seemed lighter. Malcolm's heart, though, still felt a weight on it. Archer was already at the door when Malcolm heard his own voice calling out to him.

"Sir."

Archer turned and Malcolm bit his lip, suddenly wary. Bloody hell, when had he got so damn bold?

"Lieutenant?"

_Well, too late for a retreat. _Malcolm closed the space between them and lowered his voice. "Captain, I believe that piece of…" He cut himself off in mid sentence and smirked. Heaving a deep breath, he raised his eyes on Archer and forged ahead. "Sir, I believe Commander Tucker needs to know that he hasn't lost his Captain's trust." _I'm afraid I can't do that for you_, he silently added.

Archer clenched his jaw, and for a moment Reed feared the Captain would tell him he was out of line. But then, as he had hoped and actually expected, the man's features softened.

"I see," Archer said only. As usual, though, he wore his heart on his sleeve, and Malcolm could tell how this incident had hurt him. And how Archer-the-captain was in conflict with Archer-the-friend. The Captain looked at him for a moment longer, then nodded and left.

Malcolm reached for the comm. link. "Reed to Tucker." Trip had said he'd be in his quarters.

"Yeah," a weary voice replied.

"Uhm, Trip," he said, the smile on his lips clear in his voice. "I'd straighten up your quarters if I were you. I believe you're about to receive a visitor."

"A visitor?" Trip's puzzled voice replied.

"Just do what I say. Trust me. Reed out."

Trust. It was important they trust each other, Malcolm mulled as he cut off the connection and leaned against the wall. Out here in space, each other was all they had, so they couldn't really afford to let doubt creep in to damage that trust. Humans had just begun their exploration of the universe, and they were bound to make mistakes. Their _fallibility_ was their weakness – and didn't he know that… But their humanity, their unique – it seemed – ability to feel compassion with such great depth was their strength. Malcolm shook his head. How bizarre that the very man who had taught him that, Captain Archer, should need to be reminded. Well, not really reminded. He was certain Archer would have talked to Trip sooner or later. But sometimes you just had to give the man a gentle push to get him past his pride.

Talking of pride… what _was_ the name of that Vissian Armoury Officer who had wanted to spend the night with him? Damn! He had conquered the heart of one beautiful alien lady and couldn't even remember her name…

THE END


End file.
